


Pipe Dreams

by nevereatdirt



Series: NEDWrites Oneshots [24]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Do not fuck yourself with a pipe, Improvised Sex Toys, M/M, Pipes - Freeform, Pipes are not sex toys, Stop that you little shit, That is not how you use a pipe jake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 14:16:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2071452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevereatdirt/pseuds/nevereatdirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Jake English and this is not what most would expect of you.</p>
<p>You know this is wrong. You know that you'll feel sick and disgusting when you've finished this. For fuck's sake you're in his <i>room</i> thinking about him touching you. The chances of it ever happening are more than slim. You aren't even seventeen yet and how old did Jane say he was? Forty? Fifty? You don't know.</p>
<p>You don't <i>care</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pipe Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aewin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aewin/gifts).



You’ve been waiting for three months for this opportunity. You love your host family so much and they’ve been so kind to you since you arrived from Japan. But there’s been something that’s been on your mind since you’ve gotten here. Something that you’ve wondered about for so long now that it’s making your head spin and your heart race. You haven’t told anybody about this feeling that you get whenever Jane’s father walks into a room with his suit so cleanly pressed and his fedora topping his head, and his pipe either in his hand or dangling from between his lips.

It’s a sight you’re glad you’re able to behold each time the man walks into a room. Every time he’d gone outside to puff his pipe you’d follow him out like a duckling would its mother and sat with him. Perhaps it was just the way the smoke from his pipe would curl around his face, or the way his lips rested on the end of his pipe. He was such a grandly handsome man with such a stately figure, so when he announced that he’d be taking a week long business trip you couldn’t help the strange tightness of your stomach.

It’s been a month since he’d actually announced the trip and you’ve been sitting in anticipation for it since you knew. Jane had told you that she was going to a friend’s for the weekend that he would be gone as well. That left you completely alone in the house.

When Mr. Crocker’s car pulls out of the driveway and Jane lets you know that she’s leaving for her friends, you find yourself with some much desired alone time. At home you would rarely ever get alone time like this. The entire place to yourself? It was completely unheard of living with your little sister and your grandparents.

But you’re home, sort of, alone. You’re able to wander around naked which is something that you’ve never been able to do and the freedom of it, even with the blinds closed, sends a rush of exhilaration through you. You wander through the empty rooms, looking at things a little more closely than you have before. You notice the fine wood grain of the doors and the way the soft carpeting makes a strange crunching noise under your bare toes. Each carefully trodden step through the house takes you nearer to a room that you haven’t dared to go before.

Jane tells you that she’s only ever gone there once and it had lead to a shocking series of revelations that had almost left her scarred for life. But luckily you have nothing that’s going to be scarring to you. You’ve known this man for three months, after all. What could possibly scar you for life at this stage?

So here you are. Standing in front of the door to his room. You study the fine grain of the wood just as you have with each door before this before finally grasping the brass knob and letting the smooth, cool metal warm in your hand. It shouldn’t be so nerve wracking to be here. It should be as simple as turning a knob and going into the room. But your heart is pounding and your stomach is being tied into knots. A shaky sigh escapes your lips and you finally open the door to see the muted color palette of the room. The entire room is all greys, both soft and deep, and it has the rich scent of Mr. Crocker to an almost concentrated degree throughout.

You inhale deeply, letting the light sting of pipe smoke and the warm scent of cakes and pastries overtake your senses as you pad to his bedside table. Your fingers trace over the smooth, polished surface as you look at everything on top of it. His lamp. His detective novel that Jane told you that is a remnant of when he was catering to her interests. A tin of tobacco. His pipe. His alarm clock.

...his pipe?

You chew idly at your lip as you stare at it. You've seen it everyday since you've been here. It almost makes you feel like you're just so much closer to Mr. Crocker that touching it could almost be like touching _him_. With another shaky breath you brush your fingers along the steep curve and feel the way your pulse rises at the thought of it being skin instead of polished briar wood and meerschaum.

You pick up the pipe and rest the bit in your mouth, letting it rest there as you stand naked in the room. It feels strange to have what you’ve seen so often between anyone else’s lips tucked between your own. You know that you most likely look preposterous, but the sheer excitement of being _here_ without any member of your host family knowing makes you feel like the king of the world. It shouldn't be any different from your usual adventures, but it is. It really is.

Keeping the bit in your mouth you sit on the deep grey down comforter spread neatly over the bed, running your fingers along the soft fabric just to feel how it sinks beneath them. This bedspread isn't unlike the one in the guest room, save for the slight difference in the grey, but it still leaves your skin tingling with each touch. You rub your tongue idly against the bit as you bring your legs onto the bed, leaning back against the pillow to be swallowed whole by the scent and lingering presence of your host father. With your thoughts focused solely on the way his face looks in the times you've caught him concentrating on a difficult recipe, you let your hands ghost over your chest as you try to think of them as his.

You know this is wrong. You know that you'll feel sick and disgusting when you've finished this. For fuck's sake you're in his _room_ thinking about him touching you. The chances of it ever happening are more than slim. You aren't even seventeen yet and how old did Jane say he was? Forty? Fifty? You don't know.

You don't _care_.

Your teeth dig into the bit as your hand trails lower, thinking over whether or not this is _really_ how you want to spend your precious true alone time. But you know that it is. You know that you’re going to touch yourself as you think of his hands and his face and that smile that he wears whenever he hears an old but unfamiliar joke. You’ve thought about him like this before. Only once. You were too ashamed to admit it to yourself, but you _knew_ that this would be coming. You knew that you would, by whatever means it took, find yourself in his room. In his bed.

God you’re in his fucking _bed_ and it makes you bite down harder as your fingers brush over the coarse hair growing down from your belly button towards their destination. Your breath quickens as you brush lightly against your base, eyes closing as you think about someone else’s hand there. Your hands are so calloused from climbing trees and practicing with your pistols, but his are so soft. They’re so much softer than they have any right to be. It isn’t the kind of soft that’s off putting. You’ve met too many people whose hands feel more like a strange kind of dough or putty as they give you a limp wristed handshake.

No. His hands are so soft, but have a distinct and supple firmness to them that makes you shudder to think of. He takes wonderful care of his hands, you know. He was a pianist when he was younger. He’d told you once that when he was in high school he would play for hours a day. It suits him. Sometimes you like to think about what he must have been like sitting in front of the piano creating such magnificent music that it would make anyone in the room fall in love with him.. Letting out a soft moan as these thoughts cross your mind, you feel yourself begin to harden more fully.

But as your lips part you can feel the pipe slipping from your mouth and you _can’t_ let it fall away from you. It’s practically a part of him! His lips have rested on this bit so many times. His hands have held the bowl for countless hours. You lift your free hand up to the pipe and hold it to keep it close. If you pretend hard enough the surface feels like skin. It feels almost like something that you could imagine isn’t just an extension of him but actually is a true flesh and blood part of him. You keep each of your hands wrapped around a shaft, one of the pipe and the other your own, and feel a strange kind of connection in this room.

You’re surrounded by scent and thoughts and the tactile experience of the softest down comforter you’ve ever laid upon, and the only thing filling your mind is him. You whimper as you wonder just what it would be like for him to be here. Would he praise you? God no, he wouldn’t praise this. He’s far too much of a gentleman to praise you for _this_. You’d get nothing but stern, fatherly disapproval and that thought feels like another rush in your system. The hand on the pipe grips more tightly and, as your lips part again to let out a low moan, somehow, the bowl of the pipe finds its way between your lips.

The taste is the first thing to hit you. You’ve never really thought about what a pipe would taste like before and all that you can think is that it’s even more overwhelming than this scent. At first all you can taste is what you assume is wood polish of some sort, followed by a subtle flavor of smoke.

And then you can taste him.

His taste, like his scent, is so rich and earthy and still so sweet. It’s almost as if his entire being is somehow partially fused with baked goods and it makes you shudder to think what the man himself might taste like. This is secondhand. And still you’re tasting the distinct flavor of _him_.

With a little whimper, your hand moves along your length and you imagine the pipe as something more than just a pipe. You think of it as a harder than hard cock. And not just any cock. You think of it as Mr. Crocker’s and moan around it as the bowl passes your lips. You’re so glad that you know he cleans his pipe every time he uses it. It keeps any bitter and burning ash from dripping into your mouth and it lets you enjoy the simple pleasure of his taste on your tongue. You have to think about just what he might look like as he watches you.

Would he keep his composure? Would his hands grip your hair as he tried to force you down his length? Or maybe he would whimper as his face flushed and his body trembled. You pull the pipe from between your lips at the throat and lay back on the bed, panting as the thoughts pass through your mind. You know that you’ve clouded with lust and want and need but a single little thought sparks in your mind. If the pipe is part of him, then couldn’t you take things just a little further?

With a soft groan you sit up, your cock aching as beads of precome form on the tip. You pull open the drawer of his bedside table and your face flushes when you see what you hoped would be there. Taking the small, inconspicuous bottle in your hand you stare at it for a moment before moving back onto the bed, this time doing your best to sit with your ass in the air. You uncap the bottle and coat your first two fingers in the slick semi-liquid so that you can tease at your entrance. It’s tight, but you’ve done this before. Fortunately it isn’t long before your fingers are moving in and out in smooth motions and once again you’re left a panting mess, and that’s when you know it’s time.

You pull your fingers out and once again open the lube. This time you coat the bowl and shaft of the pipe in a generous amount before getting it in position. With a deep breath, you press the bowl against your carefully prepared ring of muscle and, with a soft push, it’s inside of you.

The bowl is wider and thicker than your fingers, but the way it stretches and fills you is magnificent. You think of it as _him_ even thought it gets thinner as it goes on. But it’s thick in the places that you need it to be and it brushes against your prostate in the most intimate of ways. You keen, knowing that if anyone were in the house they would most certainly hear you. Hell, even the neighbors could possibly hear you at this point. But you just don’t care. You’re feeling more pleasure than you’ve felt in your young life and the sensation is more than you could have ever hoped.

But as you move the pipe frantically, you’re surprised by a soft noise.

In any other situation you would smile broadly hearing it, knowing to whom it belongs. But in this place, with your ass in the air and a pipe shaft deep inside of you all you can do is stop your movements and let out a little whimper. It isn’t much. Just the clearing of a throat.

You turn your head toward the side of the bed and there he is. Mr.Croker is sitting in his chair, back straight and expression nigh unreadable. You’ve never seen him like this, and you never want to see his face so impassive again. You’re mortified. You’re devastated.

You’re going to be sent back to Japan.

But he just keeps his bright blue eyes on you and crosses one leg over the other and his arms over his chest. With a tilt of his head he cocks an eyebrow and blinks slowly. “Jake.”

His voice is soft and sweet as it usually is, but there’s still an air of command that you’ve never heard in it before. You shudder at his voice but just nod. “Yes, sir?”

He sighs and rubs his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I realized I forgot my pipe about half way to the airport and decided to come back for it since I had time.” He keeps his gaze locked on you, causing a chill to run up your spine. “Do you happen to know where it is?”

You lick your lips, knowing that he knows and just nod. “Uh, yes sir.”

“Could you give it back to me?”

You nod and move to pull it from yourself, but are left speechless by his actions. He stands, moving to the bed, and pulls himself up. He kneels behind you and rests on hand on your hip, using his thumb to pull a firm cheek away from your pipe filled ass. You whimper again as you feel his fingers brush against yours and he _pulls_. The pain isn’t unexpected, but you whimper and whine nonetheless as he helps to pull the pipe from you. In a way you’re glad he found you. How else were you going to pull it from yourself?

All too soon, though, you hear the wet noise of it pulling completely out of you and you’re left empty. You swallow, finally being able to fall onto your stomach on the bed and you listen to the footsteps leaving the room and the distant sound of running water. You can’t quite process everything that’s just happened. It’s all just so much for your still lust foggy mind. But when the footsteps draw nearer again you roll onto your back and are mortified to see Mr. Crocker there as he wipes his pipe down, his nose scrunched with disapproval.

“I understand that this is a natural teenage urge, Jake.” He looks up at you and your pulse quickens as heuses your given name. So few people back home just call your by it. You’re so used to nicknames and being called by your surname that anyone using _your_ name makes you feel almost like you’re being torn into tiny pieces.

“I’m so sorry , sir.”

“Please,” his voice is calm and soft as he speaks, “let me finish?”

You nod and pull your knees up to your chest, suddenly more than aware of your nakedness.

His smile returns to his face as he continues to clean the pipe, almost like it’s going to make things any better. Like you could really fix the damage you’ve more than certainly done. “I know that this is a natural teenage process, Jake. I just want you to know that there are other things you can use apart from my favorite pipe.” He gives the poor thing a turn in his hands, as if he’s trying to appraise the poor thing. “All you would have had to do was use something simple. This isn’t the kind of shape that you’d want inside of you in the first place.”

His words are more than a surprise. You’re almost left more embarrassed than you already were when he first cleared his throat. Almost. But he continues. “Next time you have the urge to experiment like this, I want you to know that there are things in the second drawer. I don’t want to see my pipe being used like that again. At least not this one.” He waves it at you as if you don’t already know that he’s talking about what was just inside of you like how you wish he would be.

“That’s in the second drawer, too. I’m going to go into the living room now. Come out if you need me.” He turns on his heel and leaves, and you stay in place on his bed.

What exactly has just happened is beyond you. You aren’t even sure if this is the real world just yet. You stay in place for a moment before leaning over and checking the second drawer. There they are. Toys. More toys that you would have thought a man his age would use. And then you see it. It looks almost exactly like the other pipe, but this one has a strange modification near the bit.

It has a flared piece, almost as if it’s supposed to hold it up somehow… Or as if it’s actually mean to keep it from ending up inside of you.

As you stare at it you can’t help but to realize that you may have been closer to Mr. Crocker than you ever could have expected with his pipe inside of you. And licking your lips, you reach your hand out toward this second one.

After all, you have to finish yourself off don’t you?

**Author's Note:**

> This was ridiculous and fun to write. I hope this is what everyone from the game was expecting bc hot damn this was so much fun. Tell your friends that ned is an idiot btw bc that's what i am. A huge idiot ahaha


End file.
